


Silence is Golden

by MechBull



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 03:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13226808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MechBull/pseuds/MechBull
Summary: Another FitzSimmons reunion fic, set after 5x05





	Silence is Golden

The plan was going according to, well, plan. Fitz had found a way in, had gained the attention of the despot running the Lighthouse, and had been invited to stay as his guest. Spotting Daisy had been unexpected, but he used it to his advantage. It had been hard to ignore her, pretend he didn’t know her, and it had been even harder when they’d been separated without a chance to communicate. But they’d get a chance. Fitz would make sure of it.

In the meantime, he headed down the corridor in the direction of the suite that had been reserved for him. He was supposed to meet a servant along the way, someone who would help him get settled. Fitz wondered how long it would take to get rid of that person and then begin snooping. 

At the sound of footsteps, he glanced up. It took a long moment to realize that…he wouldn’t need to snoop. The only thing he cared about, the very first person he would have attempted to find, was right there in front of him. She stared at him, incredulous. She blinked, a small smile growing on her face. Fitz picked up his speed, walking towards her with a new purpose. 

They came to a stop just inches from each other, both remembering themselves at the last possible moment. And then, without a word, Jemma turned away from him. She reached out and opened the door to the suite that was, thankfully, just next to him. Fitz stayed right on her heels as she led him into the room.

“Are you OK?” he muttered, as quietly as possible, as the door closed behind them.

She didn’t respond, but she did turn to face him. Fitz sighed softly when he saw her expression. Shaking his head, he stepped closer, and lifted a hand to brush away the tear clinging to her eyelashes. With extreme care so he didn’t smudge the paint they had smeared all over her for some reason, he leaned forward, placing a soft, tentative kiss on the tip of her nose. 

“Are you OK?” he asked again.

Jemma furrowed her brow, shrugging and shaking her head at the same time. She pointed at her ear. “I can’t hear you,” she said, probably louder than she’d intended. 

Fitz’s eyes widened. He lifted his hand toward her ear in a pointless attempt to fix whatever they’d done to her. But she caught his hand with her own, clasping it tightly and holding it near her neck. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a long beat. 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Fitz observed. 

She read his lips or something – at any rate, she seemed to understand. Her eyes softened even as they filled with tears, and she pressed her lips together to stop a smile or a sob. She stepped closer, and Fitz moved as well, narrowing the gap between them. After one more moment of hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him until their bodies were flush together. His eyelids drooped heavily. Fast, rough breaths intermingled in the small space between their lips, and it was all Fitz could do not to kiss her. He didn’t want to mess her up, not when he couldn’t fix her appearance enough to protect her. He couldn’t let on that he knew her, that she meant anything to him, at least not until the plan was complete. But God, it’d been so long. Days or decades in the Framework, depending on how he thought about it, when he let himself think about it. Months in jail. And a lifetime in the cryo unit. He needed to hold her, to feel her, to touch her. He needed to know she was alive and real and his. He needed to make love to her. 

He didn’t need to _kiss_ her.

If Jemma’s increasingly rapid breathing and the way she clutched his jacket were any indication, she agreed. Fitz skimmed one hand down her side, and it slid smoothly over the fabric of the robe they put her in. When he reached her thigh, Fitz bent his knees slightly, readjusted his grip and lifted. She gasped at the sudden movement, but followed his unspoken directions to wrap her legs around his waist. 

Fitz looked around briefly, finally taking in the outer room of the suite. As soon as he spotted the settee in the center, he walked over to it. With one knee bent on it for support, he lowered Jemma until she was sitting on the edge of the seat, still upright so her hair did not get unnecessarily tousled. 

He released her then, just long enough to strip until he was just in the kerchief, a thin undershirt and his trousers. Fitz couldn’t help but smile when Jemma let out an appreciative moan. She ran her hands down his chest, then shifted them to either side so she could squeeze his biceps. They met each other’s eyes again and she raised one curious brow. Fitz shrugged rather impishly, which made Jemma grin. But he had no interest in describing his exercise regimen to her, or for that matter, hypothesizing how the cryo unit kept his muscles toned for seventy-plus years. He _did_ , however, want to demonstrate how well those new muscles of his could work. 

And so he pushed her away long enough to kneel and tug down the bottom of her…uniform. Fitz licked his lips when he realized she wore no knickers underneath. He looked up at her again, amused and aroused by the expression on her face that seemed to challenge, even dare, him to continue. He tugged her forward, moving one hand to her lower back to support her and his other to massage her mound, grinding the heel of his palm on top of her clit.

Jemma moaned, her back arching and her head falling back. Her hair was still clear of the top of the furniture, and while her gold-shaded lips opened into a circle of silent pleasure, her make-up remained flawless. Fitz rubbed harder, feeling his hand start to slide easier from her wetness. After another moment or two, he turned his hand around, leaning slightly closer to adjust for the odd angle, and he began to finger her, pressing two digits inside of her while never letting up on her clit. He wanted to lower his head and taste her while she squirmed and writhed beneath him even more, but he fought that urge, unwilling to take his eyes off her for one second. 

Indeed, she seemed too impatient for that. Hooking one leg around his arse, she pulled him closer, close enough to reach down to his trousers. She clawed at the fastenings, finally opening them enough to let his cock out. Fitz shuffled forward on his knees even closer, and with barely a second thought, he buried himself inside her.

They both exhaled roughly, and Fitz felt himself shaking with overwhelmed pleasure. It _had_ been over 70 years after all. He laughed at the thought, and then began to move. His thrusts were slow, measured, deep. He wanted to be conscious of every single one. He wanted to feel her clench around him and rock her own hips to meet him. He wanted to enjoy the way she clung to him, even as he winced at how her fingernails dug through the thin fabric of his shirt and pressed into his skin. 

He shifted position slightly and just barely sped up his movements. Jemma’s breathing turned into increasingly louder moans. Loud enough to make him a bit nervous. He looked at her, and smiled for a moment at the flush on her cheeks and how she kept opening her eyes to stare at him, only to close them again each time he forced another moan from her. The next thrust caused her to squeal, and the one after that provoked a nearly shouted curse. Fitz hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the door.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Jemma demanded. Quite loudly.

Almost instinctively, Fitz reached up to his neck, and untied the kerchief wrapped around it. He held it briefly, unsure if he should – or of the best way to – Jemma opened her eyes, staring at him questioningly.

“What?” she asked, clearly frustrated with desperate desire. Fitz winced at the volume and stuffed the fabric into her mouth.

Her immediate muffled protest and the indignant expression in her eyes made him briefly duck his head and breathe out a laugh. Perhaps it was that reaction, or the way he moved inside her as a result, or the vaguely kinky aspect of the whole thing, but soon she was grasping at him again and the expression in her eyes was anything but scolding. 

Fitz responded to her now-unspoken requests and began to fuck her with renewed vigor. There was something so incredibly hot about the forced silence of her response to him, about the small whimpers she managed and the rough breaths sucked in through her nose and, finally, the slap of her hand against the upholstery and the raw groan deep in her throat when she came. Fitz had to bite his own arm as he pushed into her one final time, just so he didn’t shout with his climax and ruin everything himself.

They held each other closely, at least until Fitz had enough energy to back away again. He pulled out of her and winced at the hard floor under his knees as he pushed off the ground. Once he sat next to her, she lifted her legs over his lap and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Carefully, slowly, perhaps not as regretfully as he should, he removed the kerchief from her mouth. While she worked her jaw and swallowed several times, he traced the tip of his pinky finger around her lips to touch up the make-up.

“What’s this about?” he muttered, confused why someone thought this would look good on anyone, let alone Jemma who was so naturally beautiful.

She shrugged and rolled her eyes, making him smile. Fitz focused his attention lower then, using the square of fabric to clean them both. He crumpled it up – now damp and likely ruined – then tossed it over his shoulder. Jemma chuckled throatily. 

Fitz glanced at her again, swallowing against emotion. He knew they’d eventually have to work things out between them. There was too much trauma to ignore. But he also knew that they _would_ work everything out. They just had to get out of there first. 

Almost as if she could read his mind, Jemma whispered, with an almost exaggerated attempt to keep her volume low, “Now what?” 

Fitz slid one hand up over her thigh and under the fabric of her robe. He traced four letters just above her hip even as he mouthed the word at her.

“You have a plan, huh?”

She seemed skeptical but he nodded with determination.

“How did you get here?” she asked next, the emotion in her voice overwhelming.

Four more letters traced on her skin. She seemed confused, and he wrote them again.

“ _Cryo?!_ ”

He waggled his eyebrows and smiled. She just gaped at him. 

An unexpected noise outside the suite made Fitz jump, which in turn startled Jemma as well. Although no one came into the room, it was enough to remind them they couldn’t linger. Fitz watched as Jemma dressed and then once again assumed a submissive air. He wondered how the Kree missed how fake it was, and how they failed to recognize the threat she posed to them. 

“I love you,” he mouthed at her, grinning when she air-kissed back at him. 

She left the room then. Fitz didn’t see her until the next day, when he managed another audience with Kasius. He risked a glance, and they made eye contact for the briefest of moments. It wasn’t nearly enough. Perhaps that was why he risked asking if she could be his personal servant while he was there, hinting that he would pay even more than he already promised for Daisy, after her exhibition fight scheduled for the following evening. Kasius grudgingly agreed, to Fitz’s delight. He snuck another look at Jemma, who seemed to understand what was happening, judging by the smirk she barely hid. 

Later, when she returned to his suite and after she nodded farewell to her escort and closed the door, Fitz walked up behind her. He pressed the button on the device Kasius had given him. Jemma tilted her head in surprise, but even before she could turn to face him, he put words to the feelings that had driven him every moment since he realized he was alone in that diner. 

“I don’t want to live another day without you.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1 - How many titles can I come up with playing on "gold," I wonder?
> 
> 2 - Look, canon can force me to deal with angst and separation, but my FitzSimmons will continue to have vaguely kinky sex, OK?


End file.
